By themselves, they're just small moments in and around beer. Together, they're the culture we love.

no. 335

September 28, 2017

It's approaching the end of harvest season in Yakima and that means everyone's scrambling to get their selection in for the year's contracts. Sitting at Breakside Brewing in Portland, I run into the Col(l)ins—Collin Castore and Colin Vent—from Seventh Son Brewing in Columbus, Ohio.

"We're finally buying enough hops to come out for selection," they explain. "Once you hit the 5,000 pound mark, you get some say."

They went on to describe the process by which brewers get hands-on with the hops from different farms or different lots, crushing the cones in their hands and rubbing them together to release the oils into their palms so they can take a big whiff. This was their first time, and it clearly created an emotional milestone for the pair.

They both unrolled their fingers to reveal that the day's activities had left behind a yellow-green residue on their skin. "It's amazing how different the hops can be from one to the next," one of the Col(l)ins tells me.

Their flight canceled, we drink ourselves hungry over some aptly named Lunch Break, and then decide to hit the town.

"Uber's on the way."

We stand on the corner waiting for our ride, the faint smell of Mosaic hanging in the air.